


Rise

by gutterking, mywishingglass, The_Omega_Troubadour



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Blood Magic, Book Based, Daenerys Targaryen Is Not a Mad Queen, Dany is on a magical journey, Dragons, F/M, Incest, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow learns how to be a knight, Knight Jon Snow, Prophecy, R Plus L Equals J, Robert Baratheon is not a fatass, Skinchanging, Smut, Viserys is mad but in a good way, Warging
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:34:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23010277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutterking/pseuds/gutterking, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywishingglass/pseuds/mywishingglass, https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Omega_Troubadour/pseuds/The_Omega_Troubadour
Summary: House Targaryen falls and a king without a throne is born.A storm rages on Dragonstone, welcoming the cries of a fated princess.A young prince stands witness to it all.Three heads of the dragon... three dragons will rise.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 177
Kudos: 214





	1. EDDARD I

****  


The blinding Dorne sun beat down on Eddard Stark and his men as they made their way through the mountain pass. In the distance, a single tower loomed, its walls gleaming under the harsh rays.

_That must be the tower,_ Ned thought.

He straightened atop his horse, a firm set to his jaw and a determined gleam in his eyes despite the weariness weighing down on his bones and the heat that threatened to sear his skin with every step. As they got ever closer, he could almost feel his throat close up and his heart thunder.

_She is close. This nightmare is almost over._

“Lord Stark!” Howland Reed called from behind.

It had been a few months and yet the title still felt like a foreign one to him.

_Father was Lord Stark. Brandon was born to rule after him. Not I ..._

The thundering of hooves came to a stop as Ned pulled on the reins of his steed, the others following suit.

“What is it?” Ned asked, turning to the man who stopped alongside him.

There was a frown on the crannogman’s face as he glanced up at the solitary tower rising at the edge of the mountain, “We should take care. We do not know what awaits us in that tower.”

_But Lyanna…_

Ned ground his teeth as he shook his head, “My sister has waited long enough. I will not leave her in the hands of Targaryen men any longer than necessary.”

“Aye! The war’s nearly over and we’ve got some of the best of the North right here! We’ll crush whatever pitiful lot they got keepin’ her in there.” The Wull grinned wickedly, a tense hand already on his axe. “I don’t care who they have guarding that bloody tower, we’ll spill their blood in the name of the Old Gods and the Lady Lyanna all the same, and then we’ll take her back North where she belongs.”

He nodded slowly at that, gazing at his companions before he steeled his shoulders and spurred his horse back into motion.

There was a quiet lingering fear brewing in the back of Ned’s mind. What would they do to Lyanna in retaliation for what the Lannisters had done to Princess Elia and her children? Especially now with Prince Rhaegar dead, there was no telling what desperate loyalists would be driven to do. He prayed that they were not too late. Perhaps there was still time to save her from whatever fate they had in store for her.

_Wait for me, Lyanna. I will not fail you._

The tower grew before their eyes as they pushed their horses to their limit.

Finally, they entered the shadow of the keep. Ned had expected men and horses to be waiting for them outside the tower. One final battle to finally end this war. But instead, all he saw was an empty courtyard. The brown dust of the desert blew along the broken cobblestones as Ned and his men slowed their horses to a trot.

A quiet unease crawled down his spine as his dark grey eyes quickly scanned the area. His grip on the reigns was tight and painful.

As soon as he dismounted from his horse, he knew something was wrong. It was far too quiet and still. He said nothing to his companions as he approached the winding stair, and though he'd imagined taking them two at a time to get to her, he found he could only make slow, painful steps.

“Shall we accompany you, my lord?” Ethan Glover asked quietly behind him.

“No,” Ned answered promptly, “Search the area. Whoever kept watch may be close by. This place has not been abandoned for long.”

Lord Glover nodded his head and stepped away. “Aye. By your will, Lord Stark.”

“Let me come with you, my lord.” Lord Reed insisted as he moved up the steps. “Another sword by your side would not be remiss should there be foes lying in wait within.”

“Very well,” Ned replied, as he pulled the castle-forged steel from its scabbard. The blade gleamed under the waning light of the day.

He eyed the castle for a moment longer before he trudged up the narrow staircase, Howland beside him with a white-knuckled grip on his frog spear.

Shoulder to shoulder, they entered into the unknown, hoping their fears were unfounded, that Lyanna still lived, that this war wasn’t for naught.

Ned scanned the entrance hall of the tower, taking notice of the another set of stairs on his left. _Surely, that is where Lyanna is being held_.

He motioned towards Howland to follow him, taking a deep breath before ascending the wooden steps.

_By the gods, let it not be too late_.

The harsh sound of their breathing filled his ears as they made their way through the tower. Ned’s mind was filled with terrible visions, of the potential horror that awaited them at the end of their search.

_Why else has the tower been abandoned? Did Lord Varys speak true? Had Rhaegar and Lyanna escaped to the Tower of Joy while the realm burned? If so, why is there no one here?_

Ned shook his head and chastised himself. He had to have some faith in the spymaster’s words. They were the only things that kept his hope alive thus far… He had already lost so much.

As they silently crept closer to the landing, an overpowering stench, sharp and pungent, filled the air. Ned felt the last of his strength wane from his legs as he took the final step. The sight before him made his stomach lurch. All of sudden, the stifling heat vanished, instead replaced with a cold chill that raced down his spine.

His greatest fears had come to life as he beheld the butchery before him.

“She is not amongst the dead,” Howland said, his voice on the verge of breaking as he quickly looked around. “There is still hope.”

They took careful steps around the dead bodies that lay across the floor, but they could hardly avoid the pools of wet blood that stained their leather boots. The scent of death grew stronger and more powerful as they reached the half-closed door at the end of the hall.

A year of fighting had led to this moment. He felt the weight of his father and brother’s ghosts as he reached a shaky hand out, and pushed the door open.

_No._

Even before he saw her a part of him already he knew as he stepped into the room.

Until that moment, he had hoped against hope, clung on to every wretched thought that would help him endure. But even if he didn’t… he knew there was nothing in the world that could have prepared him for what he saw as his eyes found her.

Her sightless, cloudy eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, on a worn and thin face. Her pallor was a ghastly gray and her limbs stiff on the stained bedding, as still as her chest. Bile rose to his throat and his eyes began to burn as he took a few stumbling steps forward, barely aware of the shaky hand on his shoulders or the sound of his sword clattering to the floor.

The sickly sweet aroma of the room began to overwhelm him as he fell to his knees beside the bed. He took her cold hands in his own shaking ones, his chest tight and his breath quivering and shadow.

“My Lord….” Howland’s voice was soft, distant as his heart pounded loudly in his ears and his shoulders began to shake.

_Lyanna…._

A raw, anguished scream tore out of his throat and echoed throughout the tower.

_He failed._


	2. ARTHUR I

Like phantoms in the desert, Arthur and his companions quickly made their way to Starfall under the cover of night with only the moon and the stars to guide their path. It would have been a shorter journey had they traveled during the day, but they could not risk their precious cargo bearing the brutal caress of the desert sun. The boy's Northern blood would have made him easily susceptible to the arid climate of the south. It was with a breath of relief when they finally reached the gates.

“Halt! Who goes there?” A lightly-armored man called out, his dark eyes narrowed as he slammed the butt of his spear on the ground. Beside him, his companion righted himself from his slumped posture and eyed them all warily.

In response, Arthur lowered his hood and gave the man a weary, yet stern glance. “Stand aside and let us pass.”

“S-ser Arthur!” They were very much awake now as they looked upon him and the others with wide eyes. “O-of course!”

The two of them scrambled to signal the men to raise the portcullis and open the gates to the castle proper.

As the knight waited, his eyes flickered upwards, a wave of nostalgia and longing rushed over him at the sight of Starfall awash with moonlight, giving it an ethereal glow. His shoulders slumped down as the silence of the cold night made his mind race. Were it a different time and if he had borne a different burden, a bitter smile would have cracked his facade.

 _Ashes._ That was what was left of his prince’s dreams now. His and Lyanna’s and most other men who had pinned their hopes on him. _Ashes and memories_.

His gaze turned from the castle to the bundle nestled at Wylla’s breast.

_All for a king without a throne._

“My lords, Lord Dayne awaits you in the main hall.”

At the voice, he inhaled slowly and looked to the guard who had spoken. Arthur nodded mutely and then urged his horse on forward to follow the man to the stables. Behind him, he could hear the others follow along upon their steeds.

\---

They had barely entered the main hall when they were met by a tall man with short disheveled blond hair and sharp violet eyes. He was dressed in rumpled white sleepwear and barefoot, yet still somehow maintaining a faint air of dignity. Despite the clear signs of age in his worn features, he was still quite comely and unbent by time. The relieved smile gracing his features only added to the image.

“Brother! I am glad to see you so hale after all these years. I would embrace you, but you look as if you took a tumble in the pigsty. You certainly smell like it.” His eyes scanned over the cloaked people with him. “Who are these people you bought to our home?”

Arthur snorted but a hint of amusement shone in his eyes. “I thank you for your concern and your honesty, Allard.” He remarked with a note of dryness to his voice before it turned serious once more. “”These are my fellow, _loyal_ kingsguard and this is Wylla.”

Allard's eyes snapped towards the two larger cloaked figures. Those same eyes widened in shock when they lowered their hoods, revealing two familiar faces - one of a solid, age-worn face with graying sandy brown hair, a thick gray beard, and stern blue eyes and the other with shaggy black hair, mischievous dark brown eyes, and stubble upon a smirking face. Even without their helms and with their unkempt appearances, it was clear as to who these were.

“Ser Gerold?! Ser Oswell?!” Allard’s jaw dropped and he had to take a few moments to regain the ability to speak. “Where have you two been during this war?”

His brows furrowed as he turned to Arthur, so many questions threatening to spill forth. “Moreover, where have you _all_ been during this war? I have heard naught about you or your brothers here. Were you not riding with the prince or guarding your king?”

All of the Kingsguard’s expressions turned grim. "We were not there," Gerold spoke up, regret clear in his features.

"Woe to the Usurper if we had been. Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne and our false brother would burn in seven hells!" Oswell added, scowling fiercely.

“Where were you, then?” Allard asked, a pensive look on his face.

“Far away. Following the orders given by our rightful liege.” Gerold responded.

Allard narrowed his eyes. “You did not swear to the Baratheon king?” He asked carefully.

“Our knees do not bend so easily.” Arthur stood up straighter, jaw clenched. “We are Kingsguard. _Our_ king still breathes and our fealty is to him and him alone.”

“Then why ride here instead of Dragonstone where the new King Viserys and Queen Rhaella reside?” Confusion was apparent in Allard’s face, only henightening when he observed Arthur glance around warily.

Upon seeing no one else around them, Arthur felt free to speak up. “Because _Prince Viserys_ is not the King.” Arthur walked over to where Wylla was and gently picked up the bundle in her arms. Then he walked over to his brother. “You are in the presence of King Aerion the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. The trueborn son of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Princess Lyanna Stark.”

Allard staggered backward with quivering knees, face paling as he held a hand to his chest. “They were married and had a son? And _Princess Elia allowed this?_ ”

Arthur closed his eyes with a heavy sigh. “I cannot claim to know what the princesses and the prince have agreed to behind closed doors. That was something they kept close to their chest. However, what we do know is that in the end, Princess Elia was amenable to have Princess Lyanna claimed as a second wife.”

He opened his eyes again and looked at his brother. “And before you ask, Allard, yes, they were married before the old gods and the Seven. The High Septon officiated the ceremony himself and my brothers and I have the documentation with us. Of course we had to ensure that suitable bribes greased the palms of the proper individuals so as to prevent the Faith from rising up in arms over it all. Prince Rhaegar was nothing if not thorough when he was not following his impulses.”

“I….” Allard was at a loss for words as he stared at the bundle in Arthur’s arms, swallowing dryly. “Brother, your king is naught but a swaddling babe. And what of the Princess Lyanna?”

Arthur's and his companions' expressions darkened at once at the mention of her name. "Princess Lyanna is dead, Lord Dayne," Gerold admitted quietly, the same pang of regret clear in his weary face. “She died giving birth to our king. He is all that is left of her… and of our Prince now.”

Allard rubbed his hands across his tired face.

“The Baratheon king has taken almost everything your child king would have called his own – his last remaining relatives are on Dragonstone and even then it will not be long until the Baratheons or their new Lannister allies send their armies to eliminate them. Gods be good, they may yet escape across the Narrow Sea. But, more importantly, what are your plans for this new king of yours, brother?” Lord Dayne asked, looking at his brother with narrowed eyes as he spoke in a quiet voice.

“I will not bend the knee to the _Usurper_ and allow him to murder another child. Neither will Ser Oswell, Ser Gerold, or even Wylla. We have no intention of dishonouring the memory of our Prince or his wives - King Aerion will not share the same fate as Princess Rhaenys or Prince Aegon.” He declared, voice as sharp as a whip. “We will-”

Arthur suddenly paused when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. He looked around and saw Gerold’s grim face staring at him sternly before nodding over to the window. He followed his gaze and remembered the babe in his arms. The reminder was enough to make his shoulders slump once more.

“That...” He looked down at the sleeping babe and his body felt heavier than before. “...is something I would rather discuss on the morrow, brother. We are all tired from riding hard for the past several nights to arrive here as quick as we could.”

“Indeed.” Oswell piped up after he eyed Arthur and Allard for a long moment, brows furrowed. “We know we have imposed quite a burden upon you, Lord Dayne. Before we allow this discussion to go any further, we understand if you require some time to think over on the matter. And frankly, we feel about as well as we look. That Dornish sun of yours is something right out of the seven hells. So if it is no trouble, perhaps it is time we take our repose. Some food and perhaps a bath may be in order. I know I would like to feel more like a man and less like a corpse.”

He offered them both a faint smile. “I am quite certain that the young wetnurse and our king would appreciate a comfortable room and a real bed.”

“Right. Of course.” Allard cleared his throat and nodded. “I will have my servants attend to you. Rest for as long as you need to, I am sure that you are all worn and weary from your travel.”

Looking over at Arthur, his lips pressed into a firm line for a heartbeat before he spoke again. “Arthur, before you retire, you may want to visit Ashara in her quarters. She has missed you dearly and seeing you would most certainly raise her spirits.”

Allard gave a weak attempt at a smile, “But after you bathe, of course. I cannot have you see our sister in such a state.”

Arthur noticed a shift in Allard's voice when he spoke of Ashara, “Has something happened to her?”

He ignored Gerold’s tightening grip on his shoulder even as he tensed.

Naked grief and worry shone in Allard’s eyes, open for all to see as he looked towards the direction of Ashara’s rooms,“That is something that would be best heard from her own lips, Arthur. It is not my place to say.”

His tone was heavy and strained. “All you need to understand is that her condition is quite… delicate, in more ways than one.”

Arthur’s stomach roiled as he took a slow, deep breath. “Very well.”

He nudged Gerold’s hand off of his shoulder as he passed young Aerion back to a wide-eyed and silent Wylla.

“I will see you on the morrow, Arthur. Ser Gerold. Ser Oswell.”

Arthur watched as his brother walked away. The silence that followed his brother’s departure was deafening. Not even Ser Oswell could muster a word and Arthur was unsure if that was a good sign or not.

\---

After bathing and having the chance to change out of his muddied riding clothes, Arthur was like a new man as he emerged from his quarters dressed in a simple tunic and a new pair of breeches and boots. Although, he felt naked without his armor since he was rarely without it, Arthur was resigned to bear the initial discomfort of his new garments as he set off to his sister’s room.

Upon arriving at the door, he knocked upon it softly.

“Ashara. Are you awake?” He called out. “It’s Arthur.”

There was a long moment of silence before he heard the faint voice of his sister. “Come in.”

He opened the door and cautiously stepped inside. The room was different from what he had remembered years ago – the furniture rearranged in new locations, curtains and sheets were of a different shade of violet, and there were pitchers of something he couldn’t make out beside the bed. Her bed sheets were rumpled and the pillows askew. There were a few dark stains on them as well and other discolorations that he managed to make out in the dim light. Of most prominent concern was the smell of stale wine and food that had gone to rot.

_What has happened here?_

Arthur bit his lip as he strode forward until he could see a silhouette lightly obscured by lilac curtains that led to the balcony. He continued forward, pushing aside the curtains. Stepping out into the terrace, his eyes found his sister standing by the bannister, her back to him and her palms splayed out on the marble railing.

“I did not think you would return,” Ashara said, her words were as quiet as a whisper as she turned to him; her violet eyes filled with a deep melancholy that had not been there before. “Not after everything that has happened. Many things… have happened since you last walked these halls. Many things...”

"What are you talking about, sister?" Arthur felt an urge to close the distance between them but was stopped by the gentle shake of Ashara's head, the sad smile that graced her lips, and the silent tears that spilled from haunted violet eyes.

Ashara moved further away from him. A calm breeze drifted through his sister’s long dark hair. Hair that was as dark as that of the small babe he had carried in his arms.

 _She could be our King’s mother_.

A beautiful, full moon hung low in the starless sky, but Ashara stayed silent for a moment as she looked out into the night, before turning back to face Arthur once more. “You did not know it when it happened. How could you? I did not even know. Do you remember Harrenhal, brother? Before Prince Rhaegar humiliated Princess Elia by crowning Lyanna Stark? Before everything changed? I wish I could go back to such a time. I miss those summer days. Even with King Aerys’ madness and the burnings of so many nobles, it would still be preferable to what our days have become. All of that and more wouldn’t compare to the heartbreak that I feel. I… we... lost so much over the selfishness of our prince.”

Ashara turned her back to him, back to gazing at something he could not see, something off into the horizon of the pitch night. A hollow laugh escaped her lips before she tightly gripped the edges of the marble bannister. “I thought of throwing myself from this tower. I thought of it so many times since my daughter’s birth. Did you know I prayed to the Seven for a boy? I would have named him Rickard after his grandfather.”

Arthur’s breath hitched.

“Daughter? What madness do you speak of?” He asked, voice unsteady as he moved closer into the chambers. His sister was not right of mind and he feared the worst.

"Clarisse," Ashara said quietly. "I would have named her Clarisse. I would have loved her so much for the both of us, for her father… Brandon Stark. Even if everyone in the Seven Kingdoms would have called her bastard, I would have loved her that much more because of it."

_Brandon Stark. Rickard Stark. Lyanna Stark._

_Stark._

Arthur gritted his teeth at the name. So many good men dead... so much blood spilled over that name. But now was not the time to think ill of the dead. He could not blame a father for his son's misdeeds, the same way he could not absolve himself of his guilt in the matter. Instead, he strode towards his sister and pulled her into his embrace, holding her tightly as she sobbed into his shoulder.

“I would have loved her as I love you, sister."

Arthur tried to push the events of the past few days out of his mind. He felt a weariness in his bones for his sister, for her lost babe—the niece he would never hold, his fallen prince. He closed his eyes and held her closer. They had all lost someone important to them, but if Ashara knew the things he did, if she knew the secrets that Rhaegar had spilled in the dead of night in the Red Keep. Would she forgive him? Could she still look him in the eyes and not feel hatred?

\---

Time seemed to slip through Arthur's hands as he held his sister in his arms. The sun was beginning to rise, the landscape of Dorne slowly coming to life. Below them, new sentry guards relieved their comrades at their posts, signifying the start of a new day.

Ashara had told him of many things throughout the night, the many secrets and the regrets she harbored, but most of all she had told him of the desolation that threatened to drown her since the stillborn babe’s birth. The words poured out of her until she could no longer speak. When the stream of conversation finally ran dry, she rested her head on his shoulder, a comfortable silence arising between the two of them.

“Thank you,” Ashara murmured as she turned her face up to him. Her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from all the tears she had shed, but there was an air to his sister that was familiar to Arthur. “I fear I have taken all your time with my matters.”

“What kind of knight would I be if I did not help those in need?” Arthur said with a hint of a smile.

Ashara returned the smile before she pulled away. Arthur felt the air shift between them as Ashara nibbled on her bottom lip for a moment, a nervous habit from their childhood, before saying, “Was Lyanna Stark in need?”

Arthur sighed as he ran a hand through his dark hair. “Prince Rhaegar had his reasons.”

Ashara hummed. “Tell me then, if our prince had crowned me his Queen of love and beauty and not Lyanna Stark, would his reasons still be enough?”

"I am one of the Kingsguard," Arthur stated as he rested his hands on the surface of the balustrade, "When I donned the cloak, I vowed to obey."

“Your words do not surprise me. I understand why you did what you had to do, it was expected of you. But what I never expected was how much the prince was akin to the Mad King—”

“ _You speak of things you do not know_!” Arthur interrupted as he pulled away from the balcony, the warm morning sun on his back. The shackles of his vows were never stronger than they were now as he turned to hold his sister’s surprised gaze. “My prince’s secrets will stay his and his alone. I took a vow, Ashara, and I will not dishonor myself in the sight of gods and men.”

"The Others take your oaths! Your precious prince did more than take Brandon from me. He bled the entire realm, all for a woman he should have never even considered! I am not the only woman who has grieved and mourned because of his careless actions." Ashara hissed, her violet eyes almost aglow as it reflected the light of the dawn. "Tell me, Arthur, what purpose did this serve? Was there a reason for _any_ of this?”

Arthur’s journey across the unforgivable Dornish terrain had not been in complete silence. Fledgling plans had been discussed with his companions. They had discarded many and discussed fewer in explicit detail, but ultimately, they had settled on hiding Aerion under the guise of a bastard son. They had found the mummery distasteful, but they did not have the luxury of having many options open to them. From all sides, they were besieged and they had no true way of rallying the Targaryen loyalists to their cause without revelaing their hand.

How many still held to their oaths to the Targaryens?

_If even a sworn brother can turn his back on his oaths, then what hope is there for any other man?_

With his mind made up, Arthur motioned for Ashara to follow him. "Come, sister. There is something you need to see. Perhaps then it will be clear as to why I am here and not by my Queen’s side." With one last glance, he led a confused Ashara out of her quarters and down the corridors of Starfall. They climbed up the stairs they used to run up and down on as children until they reached a familiar room that had once been his chambers. Arthur stood before the oaken door for a moment, before he knocked once, and then twice.

The shuffling of feet could be heard on the other side before the door cracked open and the grim and gaunt face of Ser Oswell Whent peered through.

“Ser Arthur,” he answered, voice rough. “You had been gone so long, I thought you drowned yourself in your bath. The Seven only knows that I almost did.”

"I have brought my sister, Lady Ashara, with me, Ser Oswell." Arthur replied, as he motioned behind him.

“My lady,” Ser Oswell said in greeting, bowing his head. “I pray you are well.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Ser,” Ashara replied, her voice guarded.

“Is it settled then?” Ser Oswell questioned, looking back at Arthur.

“We will find out soon enough,” Came Arthur’s cryptic answer.

“Very well.” Ser Oswell moved to open the oaken door allowing Arthur and Ashara inside the chambers. The room was dimly lit; heavy dark curtains hung over the windows while a low fire crackled in the hearth. In the corner, the slumped figure of Wylla sat in a chair, her arm on the rim of a familiar crib.

“She has not wanted to leave his side since we arrived and I am not one to come between a woman and her desires.” Ser Oswell stated in a low voice.

Arthur pulled the fine silk from the crib, revealing the sleeping figure of Aerion Targaryen. He motioned Ashara closer. He could see Oswell watching his sister with keen eyes as she peered over the crib.

“Is he—?” Ashara gasped.

Arthur nodded, his eyes somber as he looked down at the sleeping babe. “Behold our King. Aerion, First of his Name.”

Ashara stared at him aghast. Her jaw was moving, but not a word came out. He waited until she composed herself enough to be capable of speech again and he full well expected what the first question would be.

“A bastard?” She questioned.

“No,” Arthur responded firmly, “Not a bastard. He is the trueborn son of our Prince and his wife… Princess Lyanna Stark.”

“ _Trueborn?_ _And Princess Elia allowed this?_ ” The disbelief was clear in her voice, unconsciously echoing their brother from hours earlier. _“Did she even know about this?”_

“She did.” He admitted with a heavy sigh. “I cannot claim to know what it is they have agreed upon behind closed doors, but it was enough to have Princess Elia amenable to the arrangement. She was even the one to suggest secreting away Princess Lyanna to Dorne until the war was won.”

Ashara’s shaky hand reached out to touch Aerion’s dark hair. He knew he had made the correct decision as he gazed at Ashara. The king and his sister shared a likeness that would not be questioned. Arthur glanced towards Oswell and nodded his head slowly.

Ashara turned to look at her brother, her fierce violet eyes meeting his own, “Is it your plan to hide him here? What of our family, Arthur? Did you not even stop to consider the dangers that you have set upon us? You are in open rebellion against Robert and his dogs. If the Spider caught word that a son of Rhaegar was under our protection, what do you think would become of us?”

“If I did nothing, they will do to him what Tywin and his monstrous men did to Princess Elia and her children.” There was a rawness to Arthur’s voice that stunned Ashara as he looked down at his King, "Robert has shown that he cares not for the lives of innocent children and with Tywin as his Hand, there are very few places in Westeros that we can afford to harbor our king."

Arthur sighed, as their grim future played out before his very eyes. He had fears that rattled him to his very core. All this pain and suffering could all be for naught.

“Then why speak of this to me? Why show me your king at all, Arthur?” Ashara asked, moving closer to him.

"The gods are cruel and men even crueler," Arthur stated gravely as he studied the woman before him. "Would that I had known sooner of your plight, perhaps it might have changed our plans for the boy. I could have named the child my own. I could have saved you from the pain of our plans."

It took a moment before understanding dawned in her eyes.

“No. No… no! This is madness, Arthur! What you ask of me… I cannot.” Ashara said as she stepped back from the crib, pain in her eyes. “This is beyond what I can give you, brother.”

"I know the grievances you bear towards Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna, but I am begging you, Ashara... Aerion is not his father or mother. This boy and our Prince Viserys are innocents in this entire ordeal. They will need more than just the Queen to guide them. I can think of no better person to do so than you." Arthur said imploringly.

“I…” Ashara’s lips pressed into a thin line as she stared at the babe with an expression he could not discern.

He took her hands into his own. "You do not have to give your answer now. But I ask that you consider it carefully. Please." He sighed once more as he squeezed her hands gently. "My brother knights and I will convene with Allard later in the evening to determine our plans for the king and the royal family in its entirety. Join us, and you can give us your answer then, if you wish."

“The Queen and her son could use a light like yours in these trying times, my lady.” Ser Oswell added. “Another familiar face will go a long way. You had no love for Prince Rhaegar or the Princess Lyanna, we have heard you say as much, but surely you have even less affection for the fiends who orchestrated the murder of Princess Elia and her children.”

Ashara stared at Arthur and he met her piercing gaze with his own.

"I will think on it.” She said in a soft voice, prompting him to pull her into a brief hug.

“Thank you.” He whispered before he let her go. He stepped back and nodded to both of them before exiting the chamber. As he did, he saw his sister pull up a chair to sit next to Aerion’s crib.

\---

As Arthur entered his chambers, he found Ser Gerold at a small table, a dingy cloth streaked with oil lay forgotten next to a pristine blade of shining steel.

“Lord Commander,” Arthur greeted, “I did not expect to find you awake. I remember an old knight telling me that a Kingsguard’s worst enemy is is the want for a good night’s sleep.”

The Lord Commander’s grizzled face smiled slightly, nodding his head in remembrance of a time when Arthur had been new to the brotherhood that bonded them. “I do once remember saying such, but that was in a different time, one of peace. And we are no longer at peace, are we?”

Gerold took a sip from the cup of wine, a somber silence filling the room. “I am going to assume you spoke to your sister, then? Was she agreeable to our cause?”

“Much has happened since I last saw her. Perhaps too much in such a short time. But I have faith in my sister, she will do what she believes is right.”

“Let us hope so,” Ser Gerold turned away him. “Let us hope.”

But all too quickly, evening fell and the time had come to decide what the future would hold.

\---

"Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Dayne, as well as your magnanimity in hearing out our cause," Gerold remarked as he set down his cup of wine.

They were seated in what was once his Lord Father’s solar.

 _Well, it is Allard’s solar now._ Arthur thought as he looked towards his brother.

Oswell was once again with the babe along with Wylla, their king’s protection still paramount even here in Starfall.

Arthur, Gerold, Allard, and Ashara were seated around the pale wooden table with a cup close to each of them and a clay pitcher next to Allard. A map of Westeros and one of Essos lay in front of them. Sitting atop the maps were cyvasse pieces sequestered from Lord Dayne’s collection. Around them, the fires from the braziers illuminated the room with a warm orange glow.

“Before we begin, I must broach a question to the Lady Dayne.”

It was at this point that Gerold turned his blue eyes over to the woman seated at the table. "Ser Arthur informed me of his offer regarding our king and that the answer was to be given at this meeting. So I must ask you, Lady Dayne… what is your decision?”

Even gaunt and haggard as she was from lack of sleep, her violet eyes were still sharp and clear, her beauty as radiant as it ever was as she looked at them all with the poise of a noble lady befitting her station. Arthur was tempted to beseech her once more, but he instead stilled his tongue. This was his sister’s decision to make, not his.

“I accept.” Ashara responded as she pursed her lips, her tone one of finality, “For the child’s sake.”

A heavy breath escaped Arthur even as Gerold’s face eased with relief.

“Are certain of this, Ashara?” Allard questioned, turning to his sister. “There will be dire consequences to this decision. It may end in the child’s doom and perhaps even your own.”

Ashara swallowed hard before turning to Allard. “I have made up my mind. The child will need someone to care for him, to guide him and to teach him the history of our land. There is no assurance that Queen Rhaella can even be saved. I have seen the summons, as I know you have too. The Usurper is calling for all able men to King’s Landing to hasten the building of a new royal fleet. Soon there will be a thousand ships or more outside of Dragonstone. If she cannot be saved, what then? Would we entrust the child to Arthur and his brother knights whose lives are already at risk?”

Allard pursed his lips. “You make a fair point, sister. I doubt that our brother, with all of his prodigious talent with the sword, would have the wherewithal or ability to raise a king. Ser Gerold might be a far better tutor given his tenure under different kings, but being so far in his years, I do not know if he would have the will or patience to do so.” He then eyed Gerold, eyes softening, “I mean no offense, of course.”

“A true knight knows when matters are beyond his reach,” Ser Gerold replied, a brief quirk of his lips visible before he turned serious once more.

“Lord Dayne, I know that you would not betray us to the Usurper or his followers.” Gerold continued as he eyed Allard from across the table, his jaw tense. “But just so it is clear to us all, do you and your house mean to stand aside and let us do our duty to our king unopposed or do you mean to work actively with us for the restoration of the Targaryens to their throne? Your brother and your sister already stand with us in one form or fashion, but your word means another thing entirely.”

Allard dropped his eyes as he considered the question. Then finally, he gave a deep sigh, “Those of my blood have made their allegiances clear. If this is where they stand, then I will stand alongside them.” He looked back up at them. “Through hell or high water, House Dayne declares for the true rulers of Westeros. For King Aerion and his heirs. Long may he reign.”

Gerold clapped his hands once.

“You’ve made a valiant and courageous choice, Lord Dayne. We thank you for your fealty to our king. It is good to have House Dayne officially into the fold.” He remarked as he placed a cyvasse piece on Starfall.

Gerold then cleared his throat as he stood from the chair and began to study the maps that lay before them. He traced a path with a gnarled finger around and out past Dorne and through the open waters of the Narrow Sea until he reached Dragonstone.

“We will need a ship with an able crew if possible,” He looked over to Lord Allard who nodded his head in acquiescence, “We would also need enough provisions to last us a moon, at the very least. Our plan is to quickly land under the cover of darkness and take the Queen and Prince Viserys onboard, we can commandeer whatever is left standing of the Targaryen fleet and set sail for one of the free cities.”

At that point, Arthur placed several cyvasse pieces onto a few of the Free Cities. “Braavos. Pentos. Lys. Myr. Tyrosh. Lorath.”

Ser Gerold stood in pensive silence, his finger tapping the oak table. After a moment, he moved the pieces Arthur had placed leaving only Braavos standing.

“The news of this fleet is concerning. I had hoped we could take the Queen and Prince Viserys and flee to Pentos then escape into the city, but their port is unprotected and that leaves us vulnerable and out in the open. Which, in turn, only leaves us with Braavos… more importantly the Titan.”

Arthur had never seen the Titan of Braavos, but he had heard of it from the many merchants and courtiers who frequented King Aerys’ court. The Titan was a monstrous thing of stone and bronze in the shape of a man and a sword piercing the heavens, guarding the entrance into the lagoon that harbored the free city.

_With a mighty roar to wake The Arsenal that slumbers in its depth, ready to protect the free city from any encroaching danger. There is hope in this journey, however slight it may be._

“Not even the Baratheons would dare attempt such brazen actions upon the most powerful of the Free Cities, and certainly not on its sovereign territory, lest they incur the wrath of the Braaavosi.” Gerold nodded firmly. “Of the other cities, none can provide such an advantage. The closest to it would be Lys and the ability it gives the royal family to blend in with the citizenry.”

“Suppose everything unfolds according to your plans, Ser Gerold, have you thought of how you and the royal family might survive in Braavos?” Allard asked as he stared at the cyvasse piece on the Essosi map.

“I suppose it would be too much to hope that the royal family fades into obscurity as they live in peace in Braavos?” He added in a dry tone.

"As we have said before, Lord Dayne, our knees do not bend so easily. Despite everything that has happened to her over the years, our Queen will not bend either, not when she still has other options available to her." He sat up straighter in his seat, his tall and bulky form still as imposing as ever even while seated and out of his armor. "We will use Braavos to establish an initial base so we can our king and Prince Viserys in relative peace until they are old enough to travel the Free Cities with minimal fuss. As for our stay, if the Queen agrees, then we will aid her in obtaining support from the various factions that rule Braavos - primarily the Sealord and the Iron Bank. Ideally, an alliance would be struck, but if we should fail in that regard, a positive rapport would be enough and we can revisit the terms of a true alliance against the Usurper once we have better capital and forces."

Ser Gerold gestured for Arthur to set the next few pieces on Norvos and Pentos. "When those conditions have been met or if we experience complications that would force us to move on earlier than necessary, then we expand our efforts to establishing positive relations with the other Free Cities. First, to Norvos - we simply need to keep the Lady Mellario quiet about our presence there or all else failing, at least restrict the knowledge of our presence to Prince Doran. After Norvos, we can make our way to Pentos with similar purpose.”

Gerold sipped on the wine to rest his voice for a bit before he continued. “During those efforts, we can ideally find a way to procure enough funds to hire sellswords.” Arthur’s face twisted at the thought, but Gerold shot him a warning glance. “Sellswords are not the most reliable warriors, but they are a far better option than purchasing slave soldiers from Slaver’s Bay.”

Gerold grimaced at the thought. “Better sellswords than involving ourselves at all in the business of slavery. An alternative would be to create our own company of sellswords, hiring individual mercenaries to fight on our side. We cannot only look at one avenue, after all.”

"The road ahead is not an easy one. There are still many obstacles that we must overcome in order to see it all through." Arthur said. The map painted a grim picture, one of bloodshed and treachery. But he remembered the things Rhaegar had said to him in the privacy of his quarters. The look in his Prince’s eyes, so familiar and yet different to his kingly father's, filled with a madness rarely shown.

_One more, Arthur. That’s all I need. The dragon must have three heads._

Arthur exhaled sharply and pushed away those thoughts. “But with the guidance of the Seven, some luck, and well-executed maneuvers, we can start with ensuring the safety of the royal family in Braavos.” He then placed a cyvasse piece on Dragonstone.

“Another important piece of the puzzle is gaining the support of Westerosi houses.” Gerold began as he gestured over to the map of Westeros. “With the Queen, it will take little to no effort to ensure the loyalty of the houses that have declared for Dragonstone. However, that is but a small stepping stone to the greater marks we must aim for.”

He placed three cyvasse pieces on the map - one in Sunspear, one in Highgarden and one in Winterfell. “The Stormlands are practically lost to us, as are the Westerlands. However, we have a golden opportunity in the Tyrells and the Martells. If we manage to bring them over to our cause, we have a true chance at winning the throne back for our king.”

He then tapped the piece at Winterfell. “King Aerion shares blood with the Starks, though they currently are unaware of this fact. They may be resistant to the offer, but they are steadfastly loyal to their own - we can at least expect neutrality from them and in turn the Riverlands if all goes accordingly. However, we have more to gain if we are able to secure the North as allies. It will be a devastating blow to the Usurper due to his close friendship with the new Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark. They say they are closer than blood brothers due to their fostering together at the Eyrie."

“How would we achieve our alliances with them, Ser Gerold?” Allard eyed the map pensively. “What would the prices be? The Martells will clamor for the chance to put one of their own on the throne once more. Prince Doran is as much a snake as his brother Oberyn. We will need to be cautious when we deal with them. The Starks and the North might be enticed by the thought of a king with Northern blood, but the Baratheons are likely to offer a match with them to join their houses as the Usurper had wanted to with his proposed union with Princess Lyanna.”

He sighed as he picked up the piece at Highgarden. “And with a newborn daughter recently announced to the Tyrells, there is an avenue there. But it is a terribly uncertain risk to pursue. The Tyrells have less reason to side with us than either of those other two houses and frankly, Lord Tyrell is a dithering oaf who obediently follows at the heels of his mother with barely any reservations on a good day, and a disaster by himself on a bad one. It is harder to trust them than it is to trust the Martells.”

Gerold closed his eyes and sighed. “These are subjects we will broach with the Queen once we get the royal family to safety in Essos. The Queen is a better hand at the political maneuvering required in this _game_ and all final decisions will fall to her, in the end.” He leaned back in his chair. “So for now, our eyes must stay on freedom and on Essos. From there, we must work around our plans as we raise the king and the prince.”

“Very well.” Allard nodded and placed the piece back. “When will you all head to Dragonstone?”

"In a month," Gerold replied promptly. “We must obtain the necessary transportation across the sea, a month’s worth of provisions, and experienced but discreet sailors capable for this task. We need to ensure our king is strong and healthy enough to handle an extended voyage. Hopefully, this will give Lady Dayne enough time to bond with him as well so that he will be as comfortable in her care as he would in the nursemaid’s.”

His eyebrows then furrowed together and he leveled a querying stare at Allard. “Is House Dayne willing to shoulder the costs of our endeavors?”

“Yes.” Allard declared firmly as he gave Gerold another nod. “It is the least we can do for House Targaryen.” His tone was level but there was a hint of a smile on his face.

“Thank you for your support and generosity, Lord Dayne. We will ensure that House Dayne is justly rewarded when our king reclaims his throne, you have our word.” Gerold pushed away from the table and stood up. “Now, I suggest we all get some much needed rest. There is much to be done and time is against us.”

Everyone stood up from their chairs, and nodded at each other. While the rest of them filed out of the solar, Arthur and Ashara stayed behind looking over the maps and cyvasse pieces before them.

“Brother?” Arthur looked up at Ashara when she called to him. “Do you mind escorting me to little Aerion’s room?”

Arthur’s brows furrowed at the lack of title given to the king, but this time he didn’t deign to comment on it. A more familiar relationship between the king and his sister could only be beneficial, after all. “Of course, sister. Are you certain you would not rather retire to your room, first? I know this has been quite a long day for you.”

Ashara shot him a pointed look. “I am sure. I wish to be with him.”

He shook his head at his sister’s stubbornness but offered her both a small smile and his arm all the same. “Shall we?”

‘Yes.” She took his arm and he escorted her to where the king was, leaving his brother’s solar behind them.

_Well, Oswell would certainly appreciate an early change of guard, at the least._


	3. RHAELLA I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter went through several rewrites and I'm still not satisfied with certain things, but we decided to leave some things vague; they will be expanded on further into the story from a different POV. 
> 
> Shoutout to the homies for helping.

****

**RHAELLA**

Discarded scrolls lay in chaotic disarray across a wide ironwood desk. Grief and anger flickered like a dim candle, casting shadows over her pale face. Queen Rhaella felt adrift as she read the words over and over again.

 _Prince Rhaegar slain by the Demon of the Trident_ … _The royal children slaughtered…_

Rhaella leaned back in her seat, her eyes listless and unfocused. The world around her seemed all the more dull and empty. Yet sometimes Rhaella swore she could still see her Rhaegar as he played on his harp for little Rhaenys, the child’s warm laughter filling the room, bringing a small amount of joy into a world that held so much pain and sorrow.

The gods had always been cruel to her.

Memories of her childhood came unbidden as she gazed out her window. She remembered the tales her brother used to whisper to her as they hid themselves in a corner of Aegon’s Garden.

_One day I will find us dragons, sister, and we’ll race them to King’s Landing and back. We’ll be Daemon and Rhaenyra come again…_

Yet the only thing he had given her was the faded scars that ran the length of her neck and the deep marks hidden beneath the fabric of her heavy skirts. Her brother’s dreams of greatness and adventure had turned to ash in his mouth and the world had paid for it, her more than anyone.

 _I have always wanted to fly_ , Rhaella thought wistfully, _Somewhere far away from these wretched lands until the world was no more. Somewhere I might find peace._

It was a fleeting notion, for she had never known peace. Especially not now. Not after all the butchery and betrayal that had blazed through her realm. Though she could not bring herself to lay fault at her sweet Rhaegar’s feet, the pain she felt as she looked out onto the land that had once belonged to her family was as real as the dreams that haunted her sleep.

They had grown in frequency as the moons passed, more vivid and full of detail, than the last, until it all came crashing upon her with the weight of their horror.

_A woman with moonglow in her hair, burning against a dead horizon. A shadow entombing the world until there was nothing left but ruins…_

A sigh escaped Rhaella’s lips as her hand twitched to feel the swell of her growing stomach but she quickly stopped herself. As much as she desired it, she did not wish to feel the small seed of hope that was growing inside of her. Hope was like a child’s plaything, something to be done away with when one comes of age; when seven failures turned into eight, when her kingly brother’s madness had grown worse with every lost soul.

_Damn him._

Rhaella balled her fists together, her nails cutting into the soft flesh of her palm as she hissed under her breath.

Once again, she heard his voice loud and clear, as if he was still standing behind her.

 _House Targaryen depends on us, sweet sister,_ her brother’s voice came unbidden into her thoughts.

Rhaella shook her head as she tried to make the visions stop.

 _You’re hurting me. Please, brother_ …

She had paid a high price for the child growing within her. That fateful night, her brother had been exceptionally excited at the prospect of bedding her. He had taken his time, slow and painful, his eyes full of a fire she thought had long burnt out.

_He can hurt me no longer._

Queen Rhaella stood from her seat and made her way towards the adjoining room where her son Viserys was sound asleep. The young prince was resting peacefully, his silver-blonde hair catching the errant moonlight from the large windows that looked out onto the black-sand beaches of Dragonstone.

_He is the only one left._

Still, hope once again fluttered in her chest like the wings of a dove. Rhaella finally allowed herself to place a hand on the growing swell hidden beneath the soft silks of her gown.

 _Another prince_ , she thought wistfully.

Though in her heart she wished for a daughter, then she could marry brother to sister and secure their House once more. Through her, she knew not all was lost. As long as she still drew breath, House Targaryen would endure. Rhaella would make sure of it. However, doubt still lingered. Like a poison, it ate away at her.

How could it not? When the gods had taken every one of her children from her, one by one until only her sweet Viserys remained?

Her brother-husband had always believed her to be weak, that a weakness had lived inside her bones and in the very marrow of her blood, claiming every one of their children. One by one. Until they were all gone, scattered like leaves in the wind.

A sudden knock at her solar’s door brought her out of her grim musings, followed by a loud voice. “Forgive my disturbance, Your Grace. But I have important news.”

Rhaella sighed as she straightened her aching back and took a deep calming breath before exhaling and returned to the solar. Despite everything, she was still the Queen of these Seven Kingdoms, she needed to appear stronger than she felt.

“Enter,” Rhaella called out. A bear of a man with more grey in his hair than not entered, a sword buckled at his hip. “What news do you bring me, Ser Willem Darry?”

The old knight bowed, “My Queen, there's been a raven from Lord Velaryon. He brings word that the remaining loyal Kingsguard led by Ser Gerold are being escorted through the barricade at this moment.”

Rhaella frowned as a flash of heat rushed through her, her hands almost trembling in anger. “Loyal? I do not know of any living Kingsguard who remain loyal to House Targaryen.”

“Your Grace.” The old knight gruffly remarked. “I share your feeling towards these knights, but there must have been a good reason for Lord Velaryon to allow them through.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she placed a hand on her chair. “We shall see if they are indeed as loyal as they claim to be.”

She gripped the chair so hard her knuckles turned white. “What sort of excuses would they have for abandoning their prince on the Trident? Not to mention the fact that they betrayed their other brother knights who were faithful to their vows; Ser Jonothor, Ser Lewyn, and Ser Barristan. Why were they not with my husband the King, like Ser Jaime?”

The last two names made her expression twist into grief. She should have seen through Ser Jaime’s betrayal—he was a Lannister in the end, after all. But never in all her years would she have imagined Ser Barristan to bend the knee to the Usurper. Just thinking of it made her feel as if a knife had been driven through her.

Rhaella released the chair’s arm and sighed. “Once they have disembarked, have the guards relieve them of their weapons. Then have them escorted here to my solar straightaway. Use whatever means of discretion is available to you. I would rather no one else catch wind of their presence before I hear for myself their reasons for being here and see if there is any merit to them.”

She stood from her seat and folded her hands before her, “Send for my handmaidens, if you will, Ser Willem. I will need some time to prepare. I would have these supposed traitors bend before a woman who bears some semblance to a queen rather than a widow. In the meantime, I would like you to keep a careful eye on these _loyal_ knights.”

Ser Willem bowed stiffly. “By your will, Your Grace.”

The man turned around and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Rhaella sank back down into her seat and gazed off into the distance for a long while, her mind clouded with tumultuous thoughts. A thousand questions stirred in her head about these supposed Kingsguard set to land on her island, but one stood out amongst the rest.

_Where have you been?_

The question continued to linger in her mind as several young girls entered her chambers, curtseying to her as they awaited her command.

The Queen finally turned her dark lilac eyes to them, “Quickly. Fetch my crown and my black robe. I will have guests arriving shortly and I would not want to keep them waiting.”

\---

When the Kingsguard entered her solar, Rhaella noticed they were also accompanied by a cloaked figure holding a small bundle to her chest. Their armor hidden underneath their dark capes, yet Rhaella caught the glint of firelight on the metal as they hurried inside the room.

Though absent their weapons, the knights remained imposing figures as they bent their knees before her, their heads bowed low.

The Queen was garbed in a simple black robe, a piece of silk wrapped around her neck to hide her scars and keep her warm from the cold night’s chill. Atop her brow was her silver circlet, a ruby gem gleamed brightly at the centre of it. Her thick silver hair was kept in a loose silver braid that trailed over her shoulder.

She was seated in a chair in the middle of her solar, a few guards clad in Targaryen armour stood around her.

Rhaella’s pale eyes looked down coldly at the knights who knelt before her.

“Rise.”

The knights obeyed and lowered their hoods. As they stood before her, Rhaella’s eyes moved to the hooded figure beside them. The Queen’s keen eyes deduced the stranger to be a woman and noted how closely the Kingsguard stood around her. Tightening her lips, the Queen wondered if it had anything to do with the bundle that was clutched so protectively in the stranger’s arms.

After a few moments, the Queen finally turned her gaze back to the Kingsguard.

“Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell and... Ser Arthur. It is a strange thing to behold you all standing here before me. Perhaps you could explain to me how it is that you are alive and well...while my son, your prince, is dead.” Rhaella intoned with deep frost lacing her words, her hands clutching tightly onto the armrests of the chair she sat on.

Ser Gerold took a single step forward, bowing his head solemnly before he addressed her, “The prince gave us orders to keep watch over the Princess Lyanna before he departed for the Trident, Your Grace.”

Rhaella started, her jaw going slack for a few moments at the title afforded to the Stark girl.

_Princess Lyanna?_

The very thought of it turned the Queen’s stomach. She had heard the vile rumors, of course, but never believed them. Her sweet boy was incapable of such horrendous acts. He was not the sort of man to cause harm to any woman, much less to a young girl of six and ten.

She took a moment to steady herself before she responded, frowning deeply. “ _Lady_ Lyanna Stark is not a Princess, Ser Gerold.”

“She is, Your Grace,” Ser Gerold responded, his voice unwavering and precise, “Prince Rhaegar married Princess Lyanna under the light of the Seven and the old gods with the blessing of the High Septon Maynard. The marriage had the express permission of Princess Elia through private correspondence with Prince Rhaegar. Ser Oswell, Ser Arthur and I personally bore witness to their union.”

Rhaella felt her breathing quicken slightly as she stared at the Kingsguard. It did not seem possible that any man of honor would dare to speak of such absurdity in her presence. Yet, as she searched the faces of the knights before her for any indication of madness or mummery, she only found steady, melancholic eyes returning her gaze.

The only one who had eyes averted from her was the cloaked woman who had said nothing since she had entered the room.

“This mute stranger that you’ve brought with you.” Rhaella indicated with a nod of her head. “Is this… _Princess_ Lyanna?”

“No, Your Grace. I am not Princess Lyanna.”

The woman lifted her head and underneath the shadow of her hood, Rhaella saw the sheen of dark violet eyes peering back at her, reflecting in the glow of the fire.

_Could it be..._

“Reveal yourself.” The Queen ordered, though she already knew who it was underneath the cloak.

Shifting the bundle she held on to one arm, the woman used her other hand to lower her hood, revealing the face of a familiar breathtakingly beautiful raven-haired woman with fair skin and striking violet eyes.

“Lady Ashara Dayne.” The name came as a whisper on the Queen’s lips.

“Your Grace.” Lady Ashara responded as she managed a small curtsey.

Rhaella’s brows furrowed even more as she tried to comprehend this revelation, “But if you are here… then where is Lyanna Stark?”

But as the question left her lips, her eyes inadvertently drifted to the bundle Lady Ashara had in her arms.

But it was Ser Arthur who stepped forward to answer her question, “Your Grace, Princess Lyanna is dead.”

“Dead… how?” Rhaella said, her tone as cold as the wind that howled outside of the black fortress.

Ser Arthur answered in his sister’s place, “She lost her life bringing her son into the world. After Prince Rhaegar had left us with his commands, the princess fell deathly ill during her pregnancy. So much so that we could not move her from that accursed tower in Dorne without worsening her condition. We did everything we could… but we could not save her.”

_Her son … No, It cannot be. My darling son… What have you done?_

“Your Grace, if I may,” Ser Gerold stated slowly, “This child is the very reason we have come to you at this most dire hour.”

Rhaella slowly stood up from her seat and walked towards Lady Dayne who bowed her head low as the Queen approached.

“Let me see him.”

“My Queen.” Lady Ashara replied in acquiescence as she unraveled the dark fabrics of the bundle revealing the babe's face to Rhaella.

A slight movement in Lady Ashara's arms indicated that the child had been roused from its sleep, but by some miracle, he had not cried out. Instead, as the Queen looked over him, she watched as his eyes fluttered open. When they did, she was surprised when he simply stared back at her.

The child gurgled and reached out his little arm at her, his tiny fingers flexing in the air. The small tuft of hair on his head was the colour of dark wood.

 _Dark brown hair. The hair of the Starks,_ Rhaella thought, _Yet his eyes... his eyes were the shade of dark indigo, just like Rhaegar’s._

The boy was only an infant. It was still difficult to discern whose features he would take on.

_Will he be more Stark or Targaryen?_

However, as she looked at him, her chest began to grow warm with hope once more, and her heart began to race. “What is his name?

“His name is Aerion, Your Grace,” Ashara replied in a quiet tone.

“Aerion?” the Queen repeated quietly. “A curious choice for a name.” She hoped that the boy was named for the Aerion that sired the Conqueror rather than the mad Brightflame.

Before her emotions swept her away, Rhaella took a small step back away from the child before she turned her attention to the silent Kingsguard.

“Do you have any proof of this supposed marriage, Ser Gerold?” She asked briskly. “As well as any other correspondence my son may have sent during the war?”

There were too many things amiss, information she still needed before she could call this child her son’s heir and her future king. _Viserys_ ….

“We do, Your Grace.” Ser Gerold nodded respectfully. “We took as much as we could before we were forced to leave the Tower of Joy. We also have in our possession the prince’s harp, the maiden cloak of Princess Lyanna, the marriage cloak given to her, as well as other items that would attest to the validity of their union.”

“Bring all that you have to me,” Rhaella stated in a firm voice, “I will look over them myself and, depending on what I find, we will discuss plans for the child... and my son, Viserys.”

_If what they say is true..._

She swallowed hard as she placed a gentle hand on her stomach and looked up at them.

The two knights bowed to her, “At once, Your Grace.”

They quickly departed her solar. As they did so, Ser Willem silently motioned to the remaining guards in the room to follow them, leaving Rhaella alone with Ser Willem, Ser Arthur, and Lady Ashara.

“Tell me more about this child,” The Queen requested, her voice softening as she glanced at Ser Arthur and his sister.

“Our young king has been a quiet one for the most part.” Lady Ashara began as she eyed the babe in her arms fondly. “He rarely cries. He sleeps most days and is easily comforted when nursed or held.”

The Queen heard a soft gurgled response as a tiny fist reached for a handful of Lady Dayne’s dark hair. “He is quite wary of strangers, though, and does not easily settle when held by someone unfamiliar. I hope Your Grace would be patient with him if he does not take to you immediately.”

Lady Ashara paused, grimacing slightly in response to the child’s sharp tug on her hair. Ser Arthur immediately came to his sister’s rescue, gently pulling away Aerion’s hand and distracting the boy with his gauntlet.

“As you can see, Your Grace, he is already quite strong for his age and he has quite a keen eye as well.”

Rhaella's expression turned wistful as she observed Lady Ashara, Ser Arthur, and the babe. Already she could see so much of Rhaegar in the little one. As much as she was hoping to wait for further confirmation, she could not deny that she saw a strong likeness of her son in the boy.

“Would you like to hold him?” Rhaella looked back to meet Lady Ashara’s inquiring gaze.

A part of her yearned to do so, but she knew that it would not be wise to allow herself any attachment to the child. At least, until she knew without a shred of doubt that this babe was indeed her grandson.

Shaking her head, the Queen responded as she gestured to the seats in her solar, “Perhaps at a later time, Lady Ashara. There is still much we have to discuss, and dawn will be upon us soon.”

\---

“I understand the oaths you’ve taken, Ser Arthur. I can also see how devoted you were to my son. But I am asking you now, not as your Queen, but as a mother… Please, tell me what you know.”

Queen Rhaella frowned as she glanced up at Ser Arthur from her seat. Ser Willem stood guard by the door while Lady Ashara was seated on a soft cushioned bench, humming softly to the child in her arms.

Rhaella noted the shifts in Arthur’s gaze as he glanced around the room.

“You need not worry yourself, Ser. I can assure you that we are quite safe from Varys’ little birds and their treacherous warbles.” Her lips twisted in distaste at the mention of the infamous spymaster.

The Kingsguard’s expression remained tense but he slowly nodded. Curiously, she also noted that Lady Ashara was also paying close attention.

Ser Arthur shook his head before he continued, “If this is what Your Grace truly desires, then I shall do what I can to give justice to the events that led us to this present moment. I must caution you, Your Grace, just as it is not an easy tale to hear, it is far less pleasant to have to tell it.”

The knight took a breath, “But if I must tell it, then I suppose I must begin the tale from where it all started… at Harrenhal.”

Ser Arthur paused a moment as if to collect his thoughts, or perhaps carefully choosing the words he wanted to say. Rhaella leaned forward in her seat as he started to speak again,

“I have given much careful thought to these matters. Thinking was all I could do, being trapped for so long inside that cursed tower. My mind in constant turmoil as I forced myself to recollect all that happened during the tourney at Harrenhal. Unanswered questions continue to haunt me to this day. What else could we have done to avoid all this sorrow and bloodshed? Were we careless in our duties to our Prince? Had the Spider caught wind of our plans? Was there anything that could have been done differently to change the course of events? Or was the meeting between Prince Rhaegar and Lady Lyanna a fated one that would have occurred regardless of our intervention?”

The words seemed to pour out like water from an overflowing cup as Arthur paced the room. His voice shook with emotion and his eyes bore a look of intensity that Rhaella had never seen in the usually stoic knight.

“I’m certain the King must have told of you of the mystery knight that suddenly appeared on the second day of the tournament.” Ser Arthur stated as he looked back at her.

The Queen nodded slowly, her brows knotting as she tried to recall what Aerys had told her about Harrenhal. A mystery knight had signed his name on the jousting list. _The Knight of the Laughing Tree_ , he had called himself.

Aerys had arrived in a manic rage, his eyes filled with a fire she had come to know only when his pyromancers had lit their caches for his pleasure. _I’ll have his head_ , she had heard him scream out. Rhaella remembered seeing Ser Jaime kneeling before Aerys pleading his innocence after being accused of being the mystery knight.

_I saved Jaime Lannister from meeting the same end as Rickard and Brandon Stark. He repaid me by betraying his King._

“Yes, he told me,” Rhaella answered softly, “But I don’t know much else apart from the fact that the mystery knight was never discovered.”

Ser Arthur paused in his pacing, staring briefly at the wall before he turned back to face the Queen, “But she was discovered, Your Grace. Your son and I… we found her.”

“Her?” This time it was Ser Willem who spoke up from his position on the other side of the room.

Ser Arthur turned to face him, “Yes. The mystery knight was a woman.”

_A woman?_

It was then that the realization dawned upon her.

“This mystery knight was Lyanna Stark.”

“Indeed, it was, Your Grace.” Ser Arthur looked back at the Queen and gave her a short nod, “It came as quite a shock to me as well when we came upon her in the woods behind Harrenhal. When the King charged us to seek out the mystery knight, never did I expect to find a young maid at the end of our search.”

He shook his head at the memory of that meeting, still fresh in his mind. “It was Prince Rhaegar who spotted her first in the distance, in a clearing that seemed to have been chosen by the gods themselves. Even I had to still my breath as I looked upon her. She was stunning—a flower blooming under that clear summer sky. Princess Lyanna did not notice our approach as she struggled to remove her ill-fitting pieces of armor, her heavy hauberk weighing her down significantly. She was in the midst of pulling it off when Rhaegar, bemused and intrigued, neared and asked if the fair maiden was in need of assistance.”

“I can see now why my son spoke falsely. Telling his father the search was in vain. If Aerys had known Lyanna Stark was this mystery knight, the girl would have been burned before all the realm if my son brought her back,” Rhaella said with a grimace. Perhaps her son had done what was right and true, but it did not ease the grief she still bore nor answered the other questions she still had.

Ser Arthur nodded his need in agreement. “I cannot imagine the horrors King Aerys would have wrought had he gotten ahold of the wolf-maid.”

“But why would Prince Rhaegar name her the Queen of love and beauty?” This time the question came from the knight’s sister. Lady Ashara stared intently at her brother as she cradled the child close to her.

There was something else there in her eyes, Rhaella mused, a sadness which she was all too familiar with.

_She too has suffered in all this._

Ser Arthur opened his mouth for a moment before closing it and slumping down as he moved to sit on a chair across from the Queen, “The action was both a reward for her and a message to those who opposed him.”

“A reward? What did she do that would warrant it? Certainly, it was not for simply disciplining some foolhardy squires and disguising herself in a joust.” Lady Ashara asked, her voice strained.

Ser Arthur’s eyes fell to the table, his gaze distant and yet swirling with a myriad of emotions. “Princess Lyanna informed the Prince of a secret plot against him. Designs of treachery and ambition were about to be put into motion by her brother and several high lords who sought to replace our Targaryen King with a Baratheon king of their making.”

“Robert Baratheon.” Rhaella murmured, her mind spinning at the implications of Ser Arthur’s words. There was so much she wanted to know and yet she also feared the depth and extent of this conspiracy. Who else was involved and why?

Ser Arthur nodded his head in confirmation.“Lyanna’s admission saved Prince Rhaegar from being betrayed by the Great Council that he had planned to call. It saved House Targaryen… for a time at least. It is for this reason that the Prince crowned her—a declaration that he would stand with his father and family, madness and all, before he would give up the throne to any of them.”

“But... why would Lyanna Stark speak of these matters to my son? If her father and brothers were a part of this plot, she would have been betraying her family, would she not?”

“I, too, wondered the same. She evaded my questions for weeks in that cursed tower, as we awaited word from our Prince. I believed she would never speak of it, until, one day, as she lay in that bed, feverish and trembling, she finally gave me an answer,” Ser Arthur said, his voice heavy with sadness.

“She told me that it had nothing to do with love at first, though we of the Kingsguard saw it for what it was. How do you fool men who spend most of their days watching? She said that she just wanted to protect the Prince who made her weep with his songs. But it seemed that after meeting with him, and speaking with him at great lengths, the desire to simply protect him grew to be something more. So… she chose _him_. She chose to be with her Prince instead of the man she was promised to marry. She believed that Prince Rhaegar would protect her from the Mad King’s wrath in the same way that she protected him.

“In the end, she was right, he did protect her.” His smile was bitter as his eyes grew even more mournful. “Yet they both lost their lives all the same.”

Rhaella took a shaky breath, her face pale. The beat of her heart was loud and violent in her ears. A part of her grew to understand Lyanna as memories of her own knight came unbidden… his armor glistening under the summer sun, the way pride had swelled in her chest when he named her his Queen of love and beauty. The taste of his lips like the sweetest wine.

_She lived and died for what she wanted. Damning the rest of us._

A bitter silence overtook her, as she watched the child in Lady Ashara’s tight embrace, his chubby fingers once again entangled in the young woman’s dark hair. The room was as silent as the grave. Rhaella preferred it this way as she gathered her thoughts. Lyanna had saved her son and her House and yet, in the end, it mattered not.

The conspirators had won. A Baratheon king sat on the Iron Throne and her family lay in ruins at the foot of it.

 _Aerion_.

She wondered if the child they brought to her could bear the weight of that name.

_Will he be the future of House Targaryen? Or the end of it?_

Rhaella sighed deeply, “That is quite a tale, Ser Arthur. Yet I fear it may take me some time to fully comprehend it. Everything you've said... I am loathed to believe it, but I have never taken you to be a man of low honor who would be capable of lying to his Queen."

A look of relief crossed the Kingsguard’s face as he nodded, “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Ser Arthur exchanged a look with his sister, who smiled softly back at him as she rocked Aerion to sleep.

Then his expression turned grave once more, “But, there is something more we ought to discuss, Your Grace.”

“In regards to what?” Rhaella asked with concern.

“My sworn brothers and I have drawn up plans to take you, Prince Viserys and our young King to Braavos. We have already made arrangements with the aid of House Dayne to ensure we have all that we need to secure lodging there.”

Ser Arthur continued, “You and Prince Viserys are too recognizable to be hidden in plain sight under false identities in that city. It would be more prudent for the two of you to be hidden away at chosen locations, preferably disguised at all times. As for King Aerion, we have decided to further the deception by passing him off as my sister’s bastard. Her association with the Starks is unfortunately, widely known. But we can use this consternation to our benefit. Speculation and rumor will be enough to sustain our mummery should anyone happen to come upon him.”

Rhaella rested her elbow on the chair’s arm, her fingers rubbing her temple.

“Would this suffice, Your Grace? Or have you already made your own arrangements to escape the Usurper’s grasp? We do not mean to overstep. We simply thought it was best we came prepared before coming to see you.” Ser Arthur stated cautiously as he observed her.

Her mind was still reeling from all the revelations that were brought to her but Ser Arthur was right, she had to find a way to leave Westeros. The Usurper was not an idle man. She knew that before long, he would send ships and armies to take her and Viserys away.

Rhaella also understood why Ser Arthur and his sworn brothers chose Braavos as their place of refuge. She was familiar with the might of the wealthiest of the Free Cities, after all. However, the thought of a potential grandson of hers being passed off as a mere bastard was enough to make her stomach roil despite the necessity of such actions.

“If we do pursue this plan, when shall we embark for Braavos? Who will cover for our retreat?”

Ser Arthur’s expression turned even more serious. “Ideally, as soon as possible, Your Grace. Within a week, at the most, depending on how quickly we can gather our rations and supplies. The Targaryen fleet stationed around this island will aid us in our escape when the time comes.”

Rhaella’s hand fell to her belly and she closed her eyes. She did not realize that the time for her to acknowledge the one thing that she had been keeping closely guarded would come so soon.

Swallowing hard, the Queen opened her eyes and looked up at the Kingsguard, “It seems that I have some crucial information of my own that I must share with you.”

Now it was Ser Arthur’s turn to look upon her with concern and curiosity.

Rhaella took a breath, “I fear it would be impossible for me to leave Dragonstone at the present time. In fact, I believe that it will be several moons before I am able to make a journey of any kind.”

Rhaella noticed Lady Ashara’s glance move to her hand over her stomach.

“I am with child.” The Queen confessed, meeting Ser Arthur’s gaze.

“With child?” Ser Arthur repeated in a breathless whisper. Ser Willem, who was unaware of her condition, had stepped forward from where he stood.

“Yes,” Rhaella replied as she lifted her head, “I have yet to see the Maester to confirm it… but a mother always knows. It is my desire to remain at Dragonstone with my son until my child is born. Given my… delicate condition, I do not wish to test the gods lest they wrest another child from me. I would rather die.”

The tension in the room reached a new height as each person grappled with what the Queen had told them.

Lady Ashara was the first to break the silence, “These are happy tidings indeed, Your Grace, despite our present circumstances. There is still cause for us all to hope and rejoice.”

“Indeed, they are.” Ser Arthur affirmed, “I will need to speak with Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell when they return. But if Your Grace is agreeable to our initial plans to take you and your family to Braavos, we can make the necessary arrangements to delay our departure and seek out alternative courses of actions with our allies over the next few months.

As if summoned by his words, there was an insistent knocking on the door.

“Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell have returned, Your Grace.” The guard posted outside the solar called out.

“Let them in.” Rhaella responded, nodding to Ser Willem who moved to open the door.

Ser Gerold and Ser Oswell, each with a full leather satchel slung over their shoulders, strode inside her solar. Ser Willem immediately pulled the door shut after they crossed the threshold.

“Your Grace, here is the document validating the marriage between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna.” Ser Gerold declared as he removed the satchel from his person and from within, pulled out a roll of parchment which he promptly handed to her.

Ser Oswell did the same, taking several letters bound with twine from his satchel and setting them on the table. “These are the letters that Princess Elia sent to Prince Rhaegar, as well as those sent by Prince Rhaegar to Princess Lyanna. We also have letters from a Maester Aemon from Castle Black.”

Rhaella nodded as she looked at the documents before her. “I will review these at once. I will summon you all once I have done so.”

Ser Oswell opened his mouth with a look of protest on his face, only for Ser Gerold to silence him with a stern glance. The younger knight looked mutinous for a moment before settling his features into a placid mask.

Rhaella sighed and waved them off. “Ser Willem, take these men and Lady Ashara to their respective quarters. Ensure they have everything they need."

Ser Willem bowed his head, "Yes, Your Grace."

Each of the Kingsguard bowed their heads low to her as well, each of them murmuring _Your Grace_ before they took their leave.

Lady Ashara stood from her seat and gave a short curtsey, the little one fast asleep in her arms.

_My grandson..._

Rhaella's eyes followed after them as they exited the room.

With a click of the door, Rhaella found herself alone in her solar once more.

Sighing heavily, she felt a tight pain in her chest as she took a quivering breath.

There was so much that had been said, almost too much. But Rhaella knew that she could not fall apart now, not when her family and her people needed her the most.

 _Gods give me strength…_ She prayed.

Her eyes fell back on the rolled parchment in her hand. Untying the thin strings that held it together, Rhaella held up the parchment to the candlelight on her desk and began to read.

\---

Dawn was just beginning to break when Rhaella leaned back in her seat, her mind raced with the information she had found in those wretched scrolls. So many questions had been answered and yet she felt as if she still did not truly understand the extent of her son’s actions.

_Rhaegar… Why did you not come to me?_

Frustration set in as she ran her fingers over her son’s delicately written words on the parchment before her.

 _There must be three_.

More magic and prophecy. She had enough of it. The gods had taken all the magic from the land yet it seemed her son was on a quest to bring it back. Did Rhaegar believe he was this prince that was promised?

Rhaella gave a heavy sigh at her son’s folly. The woods witch had proven to be a curse to her family.

_Commanded to wed my brother for this prince who was promised._

Red hot anger churned in her stomach at the memory of her lord father’s words to her the night Jenny of Oldstones came to court with that vile dwarf.

_Yet my line hasn’t ended and Rhaegar’s son still lives._

Rhaella glanced at the door that would lead her to Viserys quarters. She needed to speak with her last living son about these new revelations and reveal to him that he was no longer the king. Her belly knotted at the disappointment she knew would be awaiting her. Yet it had to be done.

_He has to know..._

Standing from her seat, she walked slowly towards her son’s room. Placing a soft hand on the wooden frame, Rhaella carefully pushed open the door and stepped in.

"Mother?"

Rhaella was startled by her son's small voice but she eased into a smile when she saw the shine of his pale lilac eyes looking right at her from across the room.

The door squeaked slightly as she closed it behind her. Rhaella walked over to her son’s bed and settled herself on the edge.

"Did I wake you, sweetling?" She asked as she brushed back his silver-gold hair.

Viserys slowly pushed back his covers and sat up, "I heard voices."

Rhaella exhaled slowly, "Yes. Some of your father's Kingsguard are here. Do you remember Ser Gerold, Ser Oswell and Ser Arthur?"

She watched her son's face focus in concentration for a moment then he nodded, "I remember Ser Arthur. He was one of father's best knights. He had a greatsword called Dawn."

"You remember well, my son." Rhaella said, "Ser Arthur's sister, Lady Ashara, is here as well. Do you remember her?"

Viserys nodded again, "She was in the Red Keep with us."

"Yes. She was one of Princess Elia's ladies."

They both grew silent as Rhaella brought a hand to brush his cheek, wondering how she could possibly tell him that he was no longer the king.

"What's wrong, Mother?" Her son asked, "What did they want? Are they going to take us home? To King's Landing?"

Viserys had always been a perceptive, precocious child. Though he was only seven, there was a depth to him that made him seem far older. It was a wonder he had not already surmised what she was about to say to him. He always seemed to know exactly what it was she was thinking without even having to speak it.

Forcing a smile, Rhaella shook her head as she dropped her hand, "No, sweetling, they're not here to take us home. We can’t go home while the Usurper and his hounds still live. No...Ser Arthur and his men came to tell me something very important, and now, I am going to tell you what it is."

She could see that Viserys was listening to her intently. His brows knotting together as he leaned forward.

 _He looks so much like his father_ , Rhaella thought as she held his hand in hers.

"Viserys, your brother Rhaegar, before he died, he had another wife." Rhaella began, watching her son's expression closely.

"Like Aegon the Conqueror had two wives?" Viserys asked, tilting his head slightly.

Rhaella hummed, "Yes, I suppose in a way, it is like that. Rhaegar loved Princess Elia and their children very much, but he loved Princess Lyanna too."

"Is Princess Lyanna here?"

Rhaella shook her head again, "No, she isn't."

Viserys shoulders fell slightly, "She's dead?"

Knowing she could not lie to him, she replied. "Yes. She was very sick and she was also pregnant."

"Did her baby die too?" Viserys asked, a morose look in his lilac eyes.

"No, sweetling." Rhaella said with another smile, "Gods be good, Rhaegar and Lyanna's child lives. His name is Aerion. Ser Arthur and Lady Ashara brought him here so that I could see him with my own eyes."

Viserys seemed to perk up slightly with this information, "Can I go see him, Mother?"

"Soon, Viserys. I promise. But now, I want you to listen to me very carefully. Can you do that for me?"

Viserys nodded his head.

"Remember when I crowned you king before all the lords?" Rhaella asked, as she tightened her grip around his hand.

Her son nodded again.

"I had thought we were the last Targaryens left. I had no choice but to crown you King in order to keep what rightfully belongs to us. The Usurper may have the Iron Throne for now but the people will remember who it is they truly bow to.”

“Father always said that the Seven Kingdoms belong to the dragons and that dragons must always protect what belongs to them.” Her son stated.

“Indeed, my son,” Rhaella agreed, a surge of pride arose in her as she saw a glint of fierceness in his lilac eyes, “But it seems we are not the only ones after all. Aerion is here now and we must remember that he is blood of the dragon too.”

Her breath hitched in her throat, “Do you see what it is that I’m trying to tell you?”

Rhaella waited to see if he could come to the conclusion on his own, so she would not have to speak the words that she feared would break his heart.

She could see his lilac eyes glimmer in deep thought, he looked away for a moment, his hand starting to fidget in her own.

Viserys bit his lip, “Is it… that I’m not king anymore?”

“Do you understand why?”

Viserys nodded slowly, “Aerion is Rhaegar’s son. Rhaegar was the Crown Prince. But Aegon is dead too…so Rhaegar’s other son should be the king.”

_My clever boy..._

Rhaella brought her hand to his head and pressed a kiss on his temple, “But it doesn’t mean that you are any less important to me or to the Seven Kingdoms. In fact, I expect a lot more from you now. The fate of our House still depends on you, Viserys. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes, Mother.” There was a slight hesitation in his voice. Rhaella could see the disappointment in his eyes.

Before she had crowned her son, they had spoken at great length of the responsibility of bearing the weight of the crown and what it truly meant to be king. Viserys had been spared being a witness to the horrific acts his father had done but Rhaella knew that Viserys was not ignorant of them. She made Viserys swear to her that as king he would put his duties to the realm over his own pride and vainglory. She could only hope her son had taken her words to heart, perhaps he could even share them with Aerion one day.

But now that everything Viserys had been told to prepare for had been abruptly wrested from him in one night, she was unsure of the emotions and thoughts that were running through him.

He was only a boy … but all dragons have to grow up eventually, and in these dark times, her little dragon would need to grow up far sooner than she would have wished.

“There is something else I have to tell you,” Rhaella started, hoping the next piece of news she had for her son would deal a softer blow.

Viserys waited, apprehension on his face. She tried to smile to put him at ease and then lay a hand on her stomach, “Aerion is not the only babe who will be in need of you, soon. If the gods are kind, you will be a brother again, only this time, you will be the older one.”

The look on his face was unreadable as he glanced at her stomach.

Rhaella felt her lip tremble as she spoke, “If anything should happen to me. I want you to promise me that you will protect Aerion and your little brother or sister always. You will never betray them or cause them any harm, no matter what. Promise me.”

Viserys was silent, his eyes downcast.

“Promise me, Viserys.” Rhaella repeated, as she placed a hand under his chin, forcing him to meet her eyes, “I need to hear you say it.”

It was a few moments more before he finally looked up at her. Behind those eyes, a shadow seemed to linger before it quickly dissipated.

“I promise.” He responded in a soft voice.

Satisfied, Rhaella gave a short sigh of relief before gathering her son into her arms, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Whatever comes our way, we must stand strong. Just like the Conqueror and his sisters did when they came to Westeros. It was not power, or gold, or even their dragons that birthed their legacy. It was family. Family is all that matters, never forget that.” She said as she closed her eyes, feeling a slight flutter in her belly, reminding her of the new life growing within her.

“We will take it back one day, won’t we, Mother?” Viserys murmured, “I want to make the Usurper pay for everything he’s stolen from us… From our family.”

Rhaella nodded as she opened her eyes, a fiery gaze that matched her equally impassioned tone stared off into the distance, “Yes, Viserys. We will take it all back and we will make them all bend their knees to us. The stags, the wolves, the lions, the falcons… _all_ of them. Once we have taken back what is ours, my son, then you will see the dragons rise once again in fire… and blood.”

\---

“All hail Queen Dowager, Rhaella Targaryen!”

The heavy blackstone opened wide and the Queen entered the throne room with her head lifted high as sunlight streamed down through the open windows. Less than a dozen lords and their retinue who stood around the room bowed low as she walked past. Ser Willem stood awaiting her at the foot of the throne’s dais.

Flanking the Queen were Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur. Their white and gold armor gleamed splendidly in the sunlight, free from the cloaks and shadows that covered them the night before while their stark white capes fluttered behind them. Even from a distance, the hilt of the infamous Dawn at Ser Arthur’s back easily drew the attention of all eyes in the room.

Looking every inch the Targaryen Queen, Rhaella was garbed in a high-necked ebony, silk gown hemmed with blood-red lace. A long necklace made of black opals and bright rubies complemented the jeweled circlet that rested upon her head and the many rings on her pale fingers. An embroidered three-headed dragon was stitched upon the backside of her bodice and her black boots clicked loudly on the stone floor, as the long lace train of her gown trailed behind her.

The Queen’s thick silver-gold hair was kept in tightly braided spirals behind her head and her light indigo eyes held a new look of determination as she walked the steps up towards the stone-carved throne. Turning to face her court, the Queen slowly took a seat, resting her hands on the arms of the throne.

Whispers and murmurs among the court followed behind them as the Kingsguard took their positions at each side of the Queen, their expressions impassive behind their helms.

Standing below her were what few remained of the Targaryen court. Most prominent among them was a stocky, grim and disgruntled man with silver-gold hair and beard along with violet eyes. Decked in fine silks and an intricate fur-lined silver mantle adorned with red crabs was the Lord of Celtigar, Ardrian. His narrowed eyes watching the Kingsguard with barely-hidden disdain.

Beside him was a tall, proud young man with similar Valyrian features, dressed in the sea green of House Velaryon - the heir to House Velaryon and his House’s representative to the dwindling court, Lord Monford. He gave no reaction to the Kingsguard, instead of waiting for the Queen to speak.

Another person of interest within the crowd attending court was the young heir to Sunglass, a tall, blond, reedy, and altogether terribly pious young man named Guncer Sunglass. Fidgeting with the prayer beads in his hand as he frowned thoughtfully at the figures standing next to the Queen.

Last among the great lords was the disheveled and stout man with a dark but graying hair and beard dressed in silver and dark blue garments, the Lord of Bar Emmon - Togarion. He looked disgruntled and groggy, dark shadows under his eyes and his clothes rumpled, having had to rise earlier than he would have liked when summoned to court.

Rhaella’s pale eyes surveyed the faces of the lords around her as she lifted her head with regal authority.

_Good, they are all paying attention._

A nervousness filled her as she gazed around the room, taking in her subjects’ solemn expressions, but she needed to be bold. The child growing in her belly demanded nothing less.

The Queen released a breath before she spoke.

“My lords,” she called out, her voice ringing through the cavernous room. “I thank you all for being here this day, as there is much that has happened since our last gathering. As you can see, Ser Gerold Hightower and Ser Arthur Dayne have returned to us, pledging their fealty and reaffirming their vows to House Targaryen, the rightful rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.”

The lords took notice of her words. A low murmur filled the room, and like a fire it grew, a voice cried out to her.

“How are we to know they can be trusted, Your Grace? We have heard naught from them for many months. They were absent from the Trident and the Red Keep. How are we to know that they truly stand with us and are not spies who answer to the Usurper?” Lord Ardrian Celtigar queried out loud.

Rhaella looked towards Ser Gerold who answered, “We were following our Prince’s orders.”

“And what orders were those, Ser Gerold?” Lord Togarion Bar Emmon grumbled.

“Prince Rhaegar tasked us with guarding his wife who was in a Tower at Dorne, my lord.” This time it was Ser Arthur who responded.

“Princess Elia was in the Red Keep, Ser Arthur, not Dorne.” remarked Lord Guncer.

“I do not speak of Princess Elia, my Lord Sunglass, but of Princess Lyanna.”

Instantly, the court erupted in chaos, restraint and propriety long forgotten as the lords hollered and protested amongst each other.

“ _Princess_ Lyanna?”

“What is the meaning of this, Your Grace?”

“How dare they stand at your side spewing such vile falsehoods?”

Rhaella raised a hand to silence them, a fiery glower in her eyes. To her inner relief, the lords were quick to comply.

When their murmurs dwindled, she lowered her hand and frowned deeply “I took it upon myself to look into these claims so that I may deliver the facts surrounding my son and his actions. After looking over the documents and correspondence brought to my attention, I can say without a single shred of doubt, everything that Ser Arthur and Ser Gerold has said... is true. ”

The cacophony in the throne room returned and grew louder.

 _Damn them,_ she thought, as her hand rested on her stomach.

“My Queen!” Lord Togarion cried out. “You are certain then that our Prince dishonored his vows to the Princess Elia and forced the Faith’s hand to grant him a second wife? Prince Rhaegar was hardly ever in the company of his lady wife and he was not one for whores or the loose ladies who threw themselves at him in court. Is there proof to these outlandish claims? Why would Prince Rhaegar choose the Stark whelp over his own wife who had already borne him two children?”

The Queen turned her frosty glare to the rotund lord who had spoken out of turn, “I would charge you, my lord, to watch your tongue before you lose it. Remember that it is _my son_ that you are disparaging so carelessly in my presence.”

Lord Bar Emmon took a moment to compose himself before bowing low, “Forgive, my Queen. I forget my place.”

“Let that be the only thing you forget, Lord Bar Emmon, lest I shall have you return to Sharp Point without a tongue _and_ a head.”

Rhaella turned her gaze from the sniveling lord to the other lords in the room. “Whatever your grievances against the Starks and the other traitors in the Usurper’s court, Princess Lyanna became a part of House Targaryen in the last year of her life and, as such, will be treated with the respect afforded to her as both a lady and as a princess by marriage. Is that understood?”

The assurances were faint but they were clear enough for her to hear as word carried far better with how sparsely populated her dwindling court was.

“On that same token, the Kingsguard have proven their loyalty to Prince Rhaegar and House Targaryen. My son commanded and thus they obeyed. I will hear no more on this matter.” She finished, her voice as strong as the foundations of Dragonstone.

When the lords all nodded in accession and the tension in the room eased slightly, Rhaella readied herself to speak on more pressing matters.

But before she could speak, a head of silver-white hair stepped past the assembled lords. The Queen eyed the heir to House Velaryon with quiet disdain. His father had been one of the many lords on Aerys’ small council who stood against Rhaegar at court.

_I may have been Aerys’ wife, but I am a mother first._

Still, he and his family had proven their loyalty to House Targaryen and she would hear what he had to say.

Lord Monford approached the steps leading to her throne. The Kingsguard stood at the ready, their hands on the pommels of their deadly blades. It was a reassurance she did not need, though she greatly appreciated it.

“I have but one question, Your Grace,” Lord Monford started, his violet eyes never leaving hers. “And I believe I speak for all of us assembled here, but did the Prince sire a child on this… Princess Lyanna Stark?”

His question gave her pause, as a deadly silence reigned in the throne room. She had anticipated such a question from her lords, and yet answering it would have to be a delicate affair.

The Queen’s posture was straight as the blades at her command.

“I, too, wondered the same. But it was not to be. The gods did not seek to bless our prince with an heir to carry his line. Viserys remains your one true king. I trust you all will continue to serve him with the same unwavering loyalty as you did his father before him.” She responded, allowing her gaze to wander around the throne room.

However, Lord Monford’s eyes lingered on her for a long moment.

“As you say, Your Grace.” He finally said after a long moment, yet she could hear the doubt in his words. She noted to have him watched more closely as he bowed and then stepped away.

Once satisfied that all their queries and protests have been sated, she slowly stood from her throne, “There is one more thing I would like to announce to you all.”

The court suddenly became silent as a grave once again. All eyes were on her.

_Good. This will make it easier to say._

“I am with child.”

She put a hand on her belly as gasps echoed throughout the chamber, with more than one set of eyes no doubt looking to where her hand was placed over. “His Grace the late King Aerys’ seed has taken root and continues to grow strong and healthy within me. Gods be good, House Targaryen will yet have another prince or princess to carry on our name.”

There was an air of mixed emotion as the court murmured amongst themselves. The revelations of the day were upsetting enough, and yet, even with the hopeful news of another child being born, they were aware of how delicate this situation would be for their Queen.

“Has the Maester confirmed it, Your Grace?” Lord Celtigar asked with a shadow of caution in his eyes.

“Yes, he has, my lord.” She did her best to remain impassive and dignified, but her smile did not reach her eyes as she answered him, “He has assured me that both I and the child are well. There is no cause for concern at this time.”

Yet, Rhaella could see the look of worry on the faces of her lords.

“This… is wonderful news, Your Grace. My family and I will pray to the Seven for the health and safety of you and the new prince or princess.”

“Will the babe be born here in Dragonstone, Your Grace?” Lord Monford inquired, a contemplative look on his face, “The Usurper will soon try and force his way through our naval blockade with the might of the Seven Kingdoms once his fleet has been built. Perhaps it would be better to spirit you away somewhere before that becomes a possibility.”

Rhaella’s lips pressed into a thin line, allowing her defenses to fall away slightly, “I’m sure you understand that I cannot risk such a voyage, Lord Monford. This child is too precious to me as I may no longer be able to bear another if I lose this one. It is my wish that I remain on Dragonstone until the child is born.”

Lord Bar Emmon had a determined gleam in his eyes now as he stepped forward. “Then we will all protect you to the death, Your Grace. You and your children are the last legacies of the late king. You have our word that we will do all in our power to keep you safe and ensure that there will be nothing that will give you any cause for worry.” He bowed to her.

Lord Sunglass bowed to her as well. “You can place your confidence in us, Your Grace.”

Lord Celtigar looked just as determined as the others as he stepped forward, “Unlike those filthy Baratheons we are not kinslayers or blood traitors. We will stand with you, come what may. The Houses sworn to Dragonstone will not bend so easily even against the full force of the Seven Kingdoms. The dragons _will_ survive, we swear it.”

Reinvigorated by their declarations of support, Rhaella sat back down on the throne and nodded her head to them, “I thank you for your words of encouragement, my lords. You can be assured that House Targaryen will not forget your loyalty. I pray that the gods will grant us all the strength to endure in this dark hour. I trust that all that has been spoken in this room will remain here and in your strictest confidences.”

There were nods and murmurs of agreement that echoed in the chamber.

“That will be all for today, my lords. You are dismissed.” Rhaella stated and watched as each lord bowed low before her before they and their respective retinues made their way out of the throne room.

Once they had all gone, leaving her only with the Kingsguard and Ser Willem, she allowed herself a quiet sigh.

She felt the exhaustion of a sleepless night weigh upon her shoulders as she leaned back on the throne and closed her eyes.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?” She heard Ser Gerold’s voice ask.

She slowly opened her eyes and glanced up at the Kingsguard, “I am quite well, Ser Gerold. We’ve all had quite a long night. I believe we should all retire early today and get some much-needed rest.”

“How are we to explain Ser Oswell’s absence if someone were to inquire after him?” Ser Willem questioned as he moved closer to her.

“Ser Oswell is doing his duty standing watch over our young King. In this case, they all still believe it to be Prince Viserys.” Ser Gerold answered.

“And Lady Ashara?” Ser Willem added.

“She and Aerion will need to be moved into the spare room adjoining my quarters immediately. The less who know of her presence, the better. This should not be of great concern given that I will be keeping myself behind closed doors until my child is born.” Rhaella explained as she lay her hand over her stomach once more.

Then swallowing hard, she turned to Ser Gerold once more, “What think you of our allies? You heard their words, and yet, I would like to hear from you if there is cause to doubt any of them.”

Ser Gerold frowned, “It is difficult to say, Your Grace. The lords had good reason to be suspicious of our intentions and I’m certain the truth about Prince Rhaegar and Princess Lyanna, along with the news of your pregnancy, has only unnerved them further. But I do not believe that they will dare betray us, not after declaring their allegiance to House Targaryen to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Nevertheless, I want us all to remain vigilant all the same.” Rhaella stated, the hand on her stomach clutching at the fabric of her dress, “All they have right now is a Queen in a vulnerable state and a King who they believe is too young to rule on his own. I sensed their apprehension and I am not ignorant of the possibilities that may happen when they begin to lose faith.”

“We will keep watch at your door day and night, Your Grace.” Ser Arthur stated, bowing his head to her.

“And we will ensure that our eyes and ears will remain open as well, Your Grace.” Ser Willem stated.

Rhaella gave them a small smile of gratitude, “Thank you. I do believe that we will prevail, we have no other choice but to do so.”

Then she slowly rose from the throne, the Targaryen Queen once more as she lifted her eyes to the carved dragons on the walls around her.

The words that she had spoken to Viserys resounding in her mind.

_One day, we will take back what is ours…_

_If I have to give my own life for that cause, I will._

_The dragons can rise again…_

_We must… and we will._


End file.
